


You give me feelings that I adore

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkwardness, Blood and Injury, Humor, Itama is an angel, Izuna is bad at feelings, M/M, Romance, Seriously all the awkwardness, Tobirama and Hashirama star as the the boogeymen, only mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Hikaku!” the first man whines, and the list of who it could be is rapidly shrinking. “I'm—”“If you say fine,” Itama says cheerfully, stepping in front of the door as it slides open and shoving a towel at the bane of his current existence, “I have some bedpans for you to scrub out.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LordOfTheNargles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfTheNargles/gifts).



> Because _some people_ are terrible, terrible enablers and I love them for it. ;)
> 
> (Why yes that is a title from Colbie Caillat's Bubbly stop judging me.)

“It’s just a scratch!”

It takes a lot of effort for Itama not to roll his eyes as he straightens from neatening one of the beds. If he were to draw up a list of the phrases most frequently heard in the infirmary, that would be at the very top. Probably tied with _I'm fine_ , the other phrase he hears far too often.

“A scratch that’s spurting blood in time with your pulse,” another voice says, definitely familiar. Itama sighs and reaches for the towels, because he _just_ managed to get the room clean. Like usual. Sometimes he’s absolutely sure that the rest of Konoha does it entirely on purpose.

“Hikaku!” the first man whines, and the list of who it could be is rapidly shrinking. “I'm—”

“If you say fine,” Itama says cheerfully, stepping in front of the door as it slides open and shoving a towel at the bane of his current existence, “I have some bedpans for you to scrub out.”

Uchiha Izuna pulls a face, but allows Itama to peel the filthy, tattered piece of cloth off the side of his face. Itama gives him a pointed look, and the other Uchiha holding him up clears his throat a little sheepishly.

“My fault,” he admits. “We were escaping an ambush and short on time. That was all I could grab.”

“All his fault,” Izuna agrees, batting Itama’s hands away when he shoves a folded compress at him. “Oh come on, I don’t need that—”

Itama and Hikaku trade longsuffering glances, and Hikaku pointedly lets go of Izuna's arm and steps back. Instantly Izuna wobbles and flails, almost overbalancing, and hisses, “Hikaku, you _traitor_!”

“Yes,” Hikaku agrees, dry as dust, as he takes one arm and Itama takes the other, steering Izuna back onto one of the cots. “What a traitor. Not wanting your brother to _murder me_ for letting you skip out on seeing a medic is definitely the highest form of treachery.”

Izuna levels a finger at him. “That is insubordination, you are being _insubordinate_ and your team leader is definitely going to hear—ow!”

“It’s not that bad,” Itama tells him reprovingly, picking threads out of the wound. It’s oozing blood down the side of his face, and while Hikaku was _slightly_ exaggerating the severity of it, it’s still deep. Any longer untreated and Izuna would be in danger of passing out from blood loss.

Izuna huffs, though he doesn’t otherwise move, shoulders tense and eyes fixed straight ahead. “I don’t need a healer,” he insists. “This is stupid.”

Itama swallows down the faint pang in his chest at those words, and long practice keeps his hands from faltering as he carefully cleans the wound. “No, stupid would be dying from a few flecks of rust from an old kunai,” he corrects. “This is necessary.”

There's a faint shift of Izuna's eyes, too quick to follow, and he folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why it has to be _you_ ,” he mutters mulishly, and Itama just—

Stops.

 _Ow_ , he thinks wryly, and entirely to himself. He’d thought that this time, just maybe—

Well. Clearly he’d thought wrong.

Carefully, he sets down the pair of tweezers he was using and straightens up, ignoring the startled look Hikaku shoots him. “I’ll go see if one of the others is available,” he says politely, and turns away. He can see Izuna's head jerk up out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t linger to witness the triumph on his face, slipping out the back door instead. Behind him, he can hear a spate of whispers, fierce and insistent, but doesn’t stay to listen. There's a medic tending to the herb garden, and when Itama asks her to see to his patient she glances at him curiously, but goes without arguing.

It’s a good enough solution, but it leaves Itama at loose ends. He considers the neat beds for a moment, wondering if he should take over for the other medic, but even a childhood following along behind Hashirama never granted him much of a green thumb, and beyond that, he doesn’t want to interfere with what the kunoichi was doing.

There are thoughts too close to the surface for him to linger here, though Itama doesn’t particularly want to leave, casting a glance back at the main room of the infirmary. He bites his lip, hesitating, and takes a few steps to the side to sink down on a narrow stone bench. Twisting his fingers together, he takes a careful breath, and tries not to think how this has happened six times so far. Whenever Izuna comes in and Itama is on shift, he asks for a different medic.

Itama might not be a genius like either of his older brothers, but he takes pride in the things he _is_ good at, and healing is one of them. He’s the one who saved Izuna to begin with, after Tobirama tried to cut him down. Izuna had resisted, but Itama had managed to convince Madara to let him help, and he knows without hubris that Izuna would have died if he didn’t get immediate treatment.

But ever since, even now that their clans are at peace and the village Hashirama dreamed of is a reality, Izuna will hardly let Itama within six paces of him.

Suddenly, there's a loud crash behind him, a cry, and Itama jerks to his feet, heart suddenly rabbiting in his chest. He turns quickly, trying to ignore the flicker of fear he can never quite do away with, and—

Blinks.

Looking wholly indignant, Izuna stalks down the steps into the garden, still bleeding heavily, with the top of his robe halfway off and a distinct flush high up on his cheeks. Behind him in the doorway, Hikaku is holding the other medic back, one hand splayed over his face, but Itama doesn’t have more than a second to focus on them, because with a few long strides Izuna is in front of him and then past him, throwing himself down on the bench with a huff.

“Well?” he demands, pointedly looking away, but he’s blushing all the way to his ears. “Aren’t you going to heal me?”

“What?” Itama asks, faintly bewildered. He glances back at Hikaku, who’s usually in charge of Izuna-to-human translations, but Hikaku now has _both_ hands over his face and seems to be otherwise occupied.

“You—you're fine,” Izuna says, forcefully addressing a wisteria bush rather than Itama. “Just—it’s—tingly. Your healing. Is tingly. Can you please heal me now?”

Seeing as he’s still bleeding and currently looks rather like the victim of a murder rather than the murderer, Itama decides not to question his luck and steps closer, crouching down and lifting a green-limned hand with careful obviousness. Still, Izuna doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at him as Itama lightly presses a hand to the side of his head.

His breath hitches, though. Itama hears that distinctly.

“Tingly isn’t a bad thing,” he says quietly, watching the skin knit itself back together, smoothly enough that he can tell it won't even scar. One half-second glance up at Izuna's face and he drops his eyes again, feeling heat creep into his own cheeks. “Is it?”

The moment he lifts his hand, Izuna makes a sound like an overheated teakettle and slaps a hand over his eyes. “ _Why_ ,” he says despairingly, and honestly Itama is rather surprised that he still has enough blood left in his body to go that deep a shade of red. “Why do you have to be so cute, oh my god, your brother is going to kill me just for _thinking that_.”

Itama giggles, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle it just a second too late. “Which one?” he asks, entirely amused, and is rewarded with a horrified groan.

“Either of them. _Both_ of them. But I'm more scared of the one who can literally kill me _and then resurrect me so he can kill me again_.” Izuna finally pries his face out of his hands and looks up at Itama with an expression that’s somewhere between hope and abject despair. “You—you saved me, that time, and I was such an ungrateful ass to you that you punched me in the face, and I’ve never seen a medic _do that_ before—”

Clearly he’s never met a medic used to keeping up with Tobirama before, Itama thinks a little wryly. He doesn’t say that, though, mostly because Tobirama has an uncanny ability to appear the moment people start talking about him, and Itama would really rather keep this conversation relatively private right now.

“You were an ass,” he agrees, and Izuna's pretty features rearrange themselves into something that’s definitely a pout. Another giggle escapes before Itama can bite it back, and he pushes to his feet, offering Izuna a hand. “You should eat something,” he says, and dark eyes settle on him, narrowing in confusion. Itama offers him a bright smile, and adds, “I can show you which foods will be best, if you want.”

Shinobi in general aren’t all that slow on the uptake, and Itama can see the pieces slotting together in Izuna's mind. His eyes widen, grasping the extent of the offer, and then he beams.

The Uchiha, Itama thinks a little dazedly, are _unfairly_ gorgeous.

“Sure!” Izuna agrees, taking his hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet, though once he’s upright he doesn’t let go. Instead, he steps closer, free hand coming up to frame Itama’s cheek, and he just…looks at Itama for a long moment.

“What?” Itama asks, somewhere between defensive and embarrassed. “Do I have something on my face?”

Izuna makes a sound that manages to imply abject surrender even though it doesn’t contain any words. “ _Aargh_ , stop being _cute_! I managed to resist it when we were supposed to be enemies, but—”

“But now we’re having lunch together,” Itama reminds him, sliding back into amusement. He twists his hand just enough to slot their fingers together, and smiles up at the older man.

“I'm going to die,” Izuna says, almost wonderingly, the hand on Itama’s cheek sliding up into the black side of his hair. “Your brother is going to have one of the Yamanaka read my mind and then I'm going die a thousand times over.”

Itama doesn’t tell him he’s being overly dramatic, largely because he isn’t entirely sure that Izuna is. Ever since that mission where Itama almost died, both of his brothers have been slightly overzealous in their attempts to keep him safe. Itama has adjusted, but he doesn’t envy _anyone_ attempting to approach him in a more-than-casual manner, let alone the man who was once Tobirama’s greatest rival.

“…How do you feel about takeout?” he asks, and hopes it doesn’t sound as close to despairing as he feels.

Izuna is paler than even the blood loss should account for. “Like my chances of survival are going up as we speak. Ramen?”

“I know a good spot to eat near the river,” Itama agrees cheerfully, and doesn’t resist when Izuna pulls him towards the gate.

It seems that tingles aren’t that bad at all.


End file.
